


walk the world alone

by we_are_inevitable



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drug Abuse, Guilt, Jewish David Jacobs, Latino Jack Kelly, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Politically Conscious Teenagers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Running from Police, Shoplifting, Underage Drug Use, Violence, and medda is their adoptive mom, anger issues, jack and spot are brothers in this, jack kelly says acab
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29248473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_inevitable/pseuds/we_are_inevitable
Summary: There’s a certain heaviness that settles in his chest, and it feels like someone has punched him several times in quick succession. It’s the kind of heaviness that makes him take in a deep, ragged breath, only to let out a shaky exhale not even a moment later.Fuck.Okay.Breathe.###Jack Kelly has a tragic past, with the apathetic attitude to match. He's caught between his past and his future- stuck in a never-ending loop of bad decisions, guilt, and pain- and at this point, Jack doesn't see a point in trying anymore.Not until he runs into someone worth changing for.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 13
Kudos: 34





	1. on the run

**Author's Note:**

> This is an edited version of an older fic, titled "broken boy".

He can barely hear anything over the pounding of his heart, over his Vans hitting the pavement at full speed.

There’s no doubt in his mind that he’s still being chased. Usually, this doesn't happen. Usually, this kind of thing would just make him be more careful around the stores he visits for the next few weeks, but then again, Jack had never ‘borrowed’ a $40 hoodie before.

It isn’t like he takes shit like this often- hell, no. Jack is smart enough to know how stupid of a decision that would be. Besides, Jack may have used his ‘five-finger-discount’ a lot over the years, but he never did anything out of frivolous want; only necessity. It was only ever out of necessity.

And, yeah, maybe a $40 hoodie wasn’t exactly a necessity… but, fuck, man. Wasn’t Jack allowed to want to get his brother something good for his birthday? Besides, $40 for a hoodie is too goddamn expensive as it is. Now, Jack could rant about capitalist societies using brand names to exclude the lower class for hours, but right now is not the time.

Because, right now, Jack is still being chased down the sidewalks of Lower Manhattan by a cop that, really, should have something better to do than chase down a delinquent. Like, well, committing a hate crime, or upholding a system that was put in place to oppress the little guy.

On second thought, maybe calling the policeman a ‘pig’ to his face wasn’t Jack’s brightest idea, but it sure did make him feel good.

He’s been running for a while now, with that hoodie- a nice, black hoodie with a white outline of the Brooklyn Bridge- tucked safely under his arm. Jack makes sure that it’s always there- if he drops it now, then this entire thing would have been a goddamn waste, wouldn’t it? If he drops it now, then Spot isn’t getting shit for his birthday- from Jack, at least. And, sure, Medda would probably spot Jack a twenty if he asked, but… but Medda has already done so much for him the last few years.

He doesn’t want her to see him as a burden.

That’s also why Jack keeps running. Bailing him out of jail would definitely mean that he would be a burden, right?

Jack doesn’t have time to think about logistics right now.

With a glance behind him, he sees that the cop has lost a bit of traction on him- something he’s extremely grateful for. As Jack looks forward again, he has the sudden idea to turn, turn, _turn, God damn it,_ and he does.

He does turn, though in retrospect, he probably should have looked where he was turning before keeping full speed, because Jack doesn’t turn onto a sidewalk. No, instead, he turns and _rams_ into another body, sending them both flying down onto the pavement.

He’s quick to open his eyes, only to see that he had landed on top of someone- another boy, who seems to be the same age as him. This boy has pale skin and a few freckles dotting his cheeks, but that’s all Jack notices before he’s scrambling to stand up, pulling the boy with him, who says, “What the _fuck--”_

“No time to talk!” Jack exclaims, pulling the boy up and into the nearest alley, which is just a few feet away. Once there, Jack tugs him behind a dumpster and stares at him with wild eyes, firmly covering the other boy’s mouth with his palm. “Be _quiet,_ will ya?!”

Jack is met with the most intimidating stare he’s ever seen, but he doesn’t let up. He’s nearly kneeling over this guy- this guy with dark, swoopy hair and impossibly blue eyes. This guy with an angular nose and a strong jawline and high cheekbones. This guy who looks like he just stepped off of the cover of Vogue, even in his tattered jeans and vintage blue-and-white striped sweater.

Jack doesn’t move a muscle until he sees the cop run past the entryway of the alley, and stays still for a few moments afterward, too. Just as he suspects, the policeman comes back by the entrance, walking back toward the store with a defeated look, taking long, heaving breaths.

There’s a distinct, smug expression on Jack’s face as he slowly stands up, but the expression doesn’t last long- instead, it’s soon replaced by a pained look, caused by the feeling of a fist punching him hard in the shoulder. “Ow! What the fuck?!”

“I don’t think you should be the one talking here!” The boy yells, eyes wide. “What the _hell_ was all that for?! Why did--”

Jack scoffs and backs away. “What, you ain’t ever had to hide from the cops before?”

“No! No, as a matter of fact, I haven’t!” The other guy exclaims- and his voice gets a little high pitched toward the end there. Jack has to bite back an amused laugh. “Just--” He pauses, and rubs his temple. “Enlighten me, will you?! Why the hell did you- What was that all about? What-- What exactly are you trying to accomplish?!”

“Had’ta get ya to shut up somehow, right? What if that bastard asked ya, ‘hey, have ya seen a guy runnin’ with a hoodie?’ And then you’d say, ‘Oh, yeah, he ran into me like a dumbass!’ And then, boom, the cop would find me. Had to do damage control,” Jack mutters, crossing his arms. “‘Sides, you’re free to go now. Sorry for wastin’ your _precious_ time.”

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” The boy says, taking a step closer to Jack and pointing straight at his chest, “but you’re a _fucking_ asshole.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck _me?!_ You’re the one--”

 _“Jackie!”_ A voice at the entrance of the alleyway cuts through their argument.

Jack whips around with a confused look, though he’s quick to relax as he sees Race hurrying toward him, seemingly out of breath. The blond comes to lean against the brick wall right next to Jack, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ hell, Jack, why’d ya take off like that?”

“Don’t blame me,” Jack mutters, then pulls a lighter and a pack of smokes out of the pocket of his jacket. He’s quick to light one, taking a long drag, before looking back at Race. “Cop got on my ass. Nothin’ else I could do.”

“Mhm. What’d ya snag?”

“A gift for _your_ boyfriend.”

“Jesus Christ,” Race mutters underneath his breath, and runs his palm over his face. He looks up in that moment, raising a brow as he makes eye contact with the other boy. “Who’s this?”

“Apparently, I’m ‘damage control,’” The boy responds, shooting a glare directly toward Jack. “Your friend here? He ran into me, knocked me down, and pulled me into the alley without even saying _sorry.”_

 _“Jack,_ what the hell?” Race turns to face Jack, then _thwaps_ him upside the head with his palm- a gentle gesture, one rooted in annoyance rather than anger. “I’m real sorry ‘bout this dumbass,” Race says toward the other guy, then thinks for a moment before he holds out a hand. “Name's Tony, by the way. What’s ya name?”

The boy stares at him for a few moments, then slowly shakes his hand. “David,” He says cautiously.

“Ain’t seen you around before,” Race says with a grin. “You new ‘round ‘Hattan?”

“Yeah, actually,” The boy- David- responds. “We moved into our apartment about a month ago. Used to live in Queens,” He explains, then cringes- as if he realizes just what he’s saying, just who he’s talking to. “Sorry-- I should really get going,” He says with a sigh, then glances back toward Race. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You too, Davey from Queens,” Race replies with a grin.

David smiles back at him, then looks at Jack, and something in his expression sours. “Thanks for running into me, asshole.”

“My pleasure,” Jack shoots back with a grin that isn’t really a grin- he looks more like he’s baring his teeth. He holds eye contact as he takes another drag of the cigarette and exhales the smoke in David’s direction. David takes one more look at him- almost like he’s sizing him up- and rolls his eyes, then turns and promptly walks away.

Once he’s turned the corner, Race faces Jack and punches him in the shoulder. Jack winces and backs up. “What the-- Why does that keep happening to me?! Stop hittin’ me, you son of a bitch. I’m sick of this shit.”

“Well, if you’re sick of it, how’s ‘bout you stop bein’ an ass to people ya don’t even know?” Race counters with a glare. “You were bein’ a dick to that guy, Jack. What’s goin’ on with you? Are you o--”

 _“Mierda,_ if you ask me if I’m okay, I’m gonna deck you,” Jack mutters, rubbing his forehead with his palm. He then starts walking, but Race follows right behind. “I’m fine, Higgins. Go find Sean or somethin’. Stop fuckin’ buggin’ me.”

 _“You_ were the one who wanted to hang out in the first place,” Race reminds him with a huff.

Jack sighs, hunching his shoulders as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Yeah? Well, I changed my mind. Leave me alone.”

“Fine,” Race answers after a moment, and shoulder-checks Jack as he walks past him. “Call me when you’re done bein’ a cunt.”

And then Race walks off, leaving Jack alone on the sidewalk.

He supposes that this would have come sooner or later. Race has never liked it when Jack gets moody- and Jack knows from experience. Hell, he lived with the guy for nearly the entirety of freshman year, back when Jack refused to stay with Medda and Spot. Jack knows that when he gets like… like this, Race would rather be anywhere than be near him, and Jack can’t exactly say he blames him.

Of course, there’s no discernible reason for Jack’s attitude right now. It’s not a holiday, and it isn’t an anniversary of something he’d rather forget. His birthday isn’t until next month, and he isn’t exactly stressed about anything… but Jack knows that he’s been acting like an ass the past few weeks. He would change it in a heartbeat if he could, but he’s not exactly sure how to do so.

So, he walks. Walks home, alone, with his headphones on over his dark blue beanie, hands stuffed into the pockets of his denim jacket. He walks with his head hung low, passing crowds of tourists and strangers on the street. He walks until his apartment building is in sight, until he sees his bedroom window from the sidewalk.

Jack hurries up the ladder to the fire escape, and makes his way to the third floor with ease. He’s quick to push his window up and climb into his bedroom, and he thinks he’s in the clear, until he hears Sean's voice calling him from the kitchen. Jack curses under his breath and quickly tosses the stolen hoodie into his closet, before walking back through the living room, leaning against the wall. “What’d’ya want?” He asks dryly, raising a brow.

“What, I can’t say hi to my little brother?” Spot responds with a blank expression, crossing his arms. He stands and walks to the counter, leaning against the edge.

“I ain’t little. You’re only a year older than me, jackass,” Jack mutters, and Spot simply shrugs.

“In the eyes of the law, I’m legally the big brother in this situation.”

“We ain’t fuckin’ related.”

“You want me to tell Ma that?” Spot says, shooting Jack a look.

And, of course, Jack doesn’t want Spot to tell Medda that. Sure, maybe they aren’t related, but Spot and Jack have been brothers for years- ever since Medda adopted Jack. She had adopted Spot when he was eight or nine, and didn’t get Jack until he thirteen, but, still. They’re the closest thing to family that they have. 

“No,” Jack answers finally, letting out a deep sigh. “Can you hurry with what you’re wantin’ to say here? I need alone time.”

“Oh, I just wanna ask what you did to my boyfriend,” Spot says with a shrug. “More specifically, I’d like to know what you did to _piss off_ my boyfriend. Said he called you a cunt.”

“Jesus, he’s still on that bullshit?” Jack groans, rubbing his face. “I just-- it ain’t been a good day, okay? At all. So just--”

“He said you got chased by a _cop,_ Jack. Believe me, I hate 'em too, but you gotta be more careful out there. They won't hesitate to send your brown ass to jail if they catch you doin' shit again.”

Jack raises a brow. _“Wooow,_ really? Thanks for the tip. Didn’t know that I, a minority delinquent, could be in trouble with the police. You’re so wise, Spotty."

Spot glares at him, crosses his arms, and shakes his head. “Jack, I’m _serious,_ man. You just gotta stop doing shit like this. You know how spooked Ma’d be if somethin’ happens to you?” Spot asks with an exasperated sigh. “You make it real hard not to slap you sometimes, Cisco… I’m not gonna tell Ma this time, but your ass is busted if it happens again, okay? You’re gonna be eighteen next month. You can get in serious trouble, and you’ll be tried as an _adult._ You can’t keep pullin’ stunts, and I ain’t gonna keep on savin’ you from your own bullshit. I won’t do it.”

“This is gonna be the last time, I swear,” Jack mutters, half-heartedly, but he makes a show of holding up his pinky finger.

Spot stares at him, slowly shaking his head. He’s only a year and one month older than Jack is, but he looks so much older- and maybe, Jack thinks, it’s because Spot has always been the more mature one, the more responsible one, but he’s not even nineteen yet and looks so… fed up with Jack’s antics. He throws his hands up and sighs, staring at Jack with a pointed expression. “Good. Make sure of it. Just… Just go to your room. Ma’s gonna be back late."

Jack waits for a few more moments, before nodding slowly and turning to walk back to his room. Once inside, he flops back onto his bed with a huff. There’s a certain heaviness that settles in his chest almost immediately afterward, and it feels like someone has punched him several times in quick succession. It’s the kind of heaviness that makes him take in a deep, ragged breath, only to let out a shaky exhale not even a moment later.

Fuck.

Okay.

_Breathe._

As Jack rolls over onto his side, his back facing the window, he shuts his eyes. The events of the day play out in his mind. It had started out fairly normal- he asked Race if he wanted to go shopping, ate breakfast with Medda and Spot, and left before anyone else. He and Race met up at the midway point between their apartments and went out on a quest to find something good for Spot. Jack found the hoodie. Jack saw the price tag on the hoodie. Jack ran with the hoodie.

Jack ran _into_ someone with the hoodie.

As the memory of the boy- David- hits full force, Jack groans, curling into a ball. There’s a sick feeling in his stomach, and he knows he’s going to be thinking about this for a while- thinking about how rude he was, thinking about how much of an asshole he had been, thinking about how he had _knowingly_ brought a stranger into his mess with the police. Jesus _Christ,_ what is wrong with him?

This David guy had done nothing to deserve that kind of harsh treatment. If Jack had been the one pulled into an alley, he’s sure he would have responded the same way- albeit with more physical force- and he really can’t blame David for being angry.

Jack knows, however, that he needs to do something to make it right. He feels guilty- which isn’t an easy thing for him to admit- and he knows that, whatever the case may be, he has to find David, at least to apologize. Redeem himself a little bit. And maybe it’s an extremely personal goal, and maybe it’s unattainable and stupid, but no matter how many bad things Jack does, he can’t stand the thought of someone thinking he’s a bad guy. First thing tomorrow, Jack promises himself, he’s going to go back to that street, back to that alley, and try to find David, just so he can apologize.

Now, though, Jack simply takes out his phone to write an apology text to Race. Better safe than sorry.


	2. lost and found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He’s quick to walk down the sidewalk, scanning faces for any sign of this guy. David said he lived in Manhattan, which means that there’s only… 1.6 million people to look through._
> 
> _Great. This is fine!_

Jack is back at that alley the next day, though he has no luck in finding David.

When Charlie had rung him up and asked if he wanted to hang out, Jack had said no- regretfully, of course, because Jack loves hanging out with Charlie. Charlie is one of the only ones who doesn’t push his buttons, who doesn’t judge him for outbursts, because Charlie _understands._ Charlie gets it. He gets why Jack’s emotions are fucked sometimes, he gets why Jack is so codependent on other people while simultaneously holding everyone at an arm’s length away. Charlie gets it.

But, unfortunately, Charlie _doesn’t_ get why Jack is spending so much time and energy trying to track down one boy out of all of the people in Manhattan.

Jack can’t explain it. He knows he was acting like a dick, but… but the thought of someone thinking he’s rude, thinking he’s a bad person, makes his skin crawl in ways he can’t explain, because Jack isn’t a bad person. Jack _can’t_ be a bad person. And, sure, he does some bad things sometimes, but so does everyone else! Everyone does bad things sometimes. Maybe those bad things don’t involve shoplifting or graffiti or anything else Jack’s been caught doing, but that- that doesn’t mean he’s a bad person, right? That just means he’s a damaged teenager with no emotional outlet for his trauma.

Fuck. That almost sounds _worse_ than being a bad person.

Jack sighs to himself as he leans against the brick wall. He’s been here for an hour, around the same time that he unfortunately ran into the guy, but there’s no sign of him anywhere. Jack even takes his time walking around the block, but again, he doesn’t find anything. Doesn’t see him.

He returns the next day, and the day after that. He returns every day until Saturday, Spot’s birthday.

Spot’s birthday is a joyous occasion. His friends all pile into the apartment- Race, Charlie, Hotshot, Myron, a few of his other old childhood friends from Brooklyn- and they hang out and eat and have a chill time. Jack is there, but he isn’t really _there;_ most of his time is spent at the dining room table, away from the chaos of all of the other people.

He’s not especially close to any of Spot’s Brooklyn friends. He’s close to Race and Charlie, of course, but they’re more focused on Spot today- which is completely understandable. Jack can honestly say he’s not mad about that. It’s to be expected, since Race is literally Spot’s boyfriend and Charlie is close with a few of the other Brooklyn dudes, so Jack stays off to the side.

He has a lot to think about, anyway, like finding David, and starting senior year in just two months, and… and turning eighteen in three weeks.

Jack’s birthday has never exactly been a happy day. He’s never wanted a big party, and would truthfully rather not even celebrate; celebrating a day filled with guilt and bad, bad memories has never been on Jack’s radar, but every year, Medda and Spot try to make it good, and every year, they’re ultimately disappointed because Jack can’t get past whatever’s going on inside his head. He’s grateful for everything- the planning, the food, the gifts- and they know this, they can see it in the way he smiles and in the way he gives them both big hugs in the morning, but there’s always a cloud hanging over his head. On his birthday, Jack rarely speaks to anyone, which has been commonplace since he was adopted, and, on his birthday, Jack tries to push himself to be better, feel better, do better, but every year, without fail, it results in Jack crying alone in his bedroom.

But, yeah. He’s happy for Spot, he really is. Jack had been so excited to give Spot that goddamn hoodie, and- thankfully- Spot really liked it, even though he was a bit… critical, when he saw the price tag that Jack had forgotten to take off. Nonetheless, Spot puts it on and wears it throughout the rest of the day.

That’s the one good thing to come out of a day like this.

But Jack doesn’t have time to dwell.

Not when he has a stranger to find.

Of course, after his one-day intermission, Jack is back on the street, searching for David once again. He feels a bit creepy doing this- well, not _creepy,_ but it’s a little weird, right? Just a little? He’s obsessing over finding a stranger who probably doesn’t even want to see him, just so he can apologize for his actions, for an unfortunate mistake that happened days ago.

Pushing that thought out of his mind, Jack sighs, toeing at a pebble on the sidewalk with the tip of his shoe- some Vans that started out white, but now had a desert scene painted on them, wrapping around the expanse of the shoes. They had taken days to finish, and were undoubtedly Jack’s favorite shoes, and he was so, so proud of them, and--

_And now isn’t the time to focus on shoes._

Jack shakes his head, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. He’s quick to walk down the sidewalk, scanning faces for any sign of this guy. David said he lived in Manhattan, which means that there’s only… 1.6 million people to look through.

Great. This is fine!

Jack looks up to the sky and lets out a deep breath. He’s been here for a while now. Watching, waiting. He’s about to throw in the towel for good if he doesn’t see him today, Jack promises himself, and tries to ignore the twist in his gut as he does so. He slowly turns his head, checking behind him, then looks forward- only to catch a familiar side profile turning the corner up ahead. Jack blinks, tries to figure out if his eyes were just playing tricks on him; once he decides that they weren’t, he bolts forward through the crowd.

He’s dodging older women and businessmen and kids on skateboards and, fuck, he’s having to run really fast just to reach the corner. David- or, who Jack _thinks_ is David- is really far ahead, now that he’s actually trying to reach him. Jack slows as he rounds the corner, almost running off the sidewalk as it is, before he frantically looks around and sees the guy walking up ahead. Thankfully this street is less busy than the other. It’s flanked with apartment buildings on either side of the road, and looks more residential, thank the Lord above.

Jack calms his pace, instead jogging after the guy. He waits until he’s about ten feet behind him to stop. “Uh-- You’re David, right?”

That causes the stranger in front of him to pause and whip around, a curious expression on his face, before shock replaces the curiosity and annoyance replaces the shock. Yeah, this is David, alright- Jack remembers that icy glare from anywhere. “What do _you_ want?”

Ouch. Harsh, not a good sign. Jack sighs.

Slowly, he takes a step forward, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Look, I... I’m real sorry ‘bout stoppin’ you, I just… I want to apologize.”

“Apologize,” David repeats, crossing his arms. He looks different here in the sunlight- more vibrant. The shadows of the alley don’t do those blue eyes justice at all. “Apologize for what? Running into me? Dragging me into an alley? Almost getting me in trouble with the _police?”_

Jack cringes, and runs a hand through his curls as he shrugs his shoulders and glances off to the side. “Uh-- All of it?” He replies, and looks down at the sidewalk in front of David’s feet. “It’s been eatin’ at me all week. I’m really sorry for draggin’ you into all that, and for… actin’ like a dick toward you. That ain’t me, I promise. I… I don’t know. I’m not gonna try to make excuses, I just… wanted you to know that I’m sorry,” Jack finishes with a sheepish expression, slowly looking back up at David’s face.

David, by all accounts, looks shocked. He ruminates on the apology for a few long moments, before raising his eyebrows ever so slightly. “Uh-- Well… thanks for the apology, I guess,” He says slowly, looking critically at Jack, before taking a few steps toward him. “You, uh-- Your friend. Tony, right? He said your name is… Jackie?”

_Shit._ Jack has never heard his name sound prettier.

“It’s Jack,” He explains with an apprehensive grin, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, I, uh... I don’t think we got a good introduction last week.”

“I don’t think so either,” David counters with a slight grin, then hesitates before holding out a hand. “David Jacobs.”

“Jack Kelly,” Jack replies with ease, shaking David’s hand.

David’s hand is really soft.

Like, _really_ soft.

It’s all Jack can think about for a moment until he pulls his hand away.

Davis looks at him with an amused, puzzled expression for a moment, then lets out a soft laugh and bites down on his lower lip. He runs a hand through his hair, that dark, floppy hair, before meeting Jack’s eyes. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for punching you,” David says with an embarrassed grin.

Jack shakes his head. “Don’t be. Believe me, it was warranted,” He laughs, rocking on his heels.

There are a few moments of unbearable silence that follow. David seems to be thinking hard about something, and Jack is content just to _look_ at him. He’s wearing a nice pair of jeans, and has on a blue flannel- though it’s unbuttoned, leaving his white t-shirt visible. He also has on a pair of simple white converse that are impeccably white, no sign of dust or dirt anywhere. Overall, David just looks… simple. Put together.

Jack works himself up just enough to comment on his appearance, but as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, David licks his lips and asks, “Do-- Uh, do you live around here?”

That sends Jack through a loop. He stares at David for a few long seconds, then nods. “Uh, a few blocks over, yeah. ‘S like, a fifteen minute walk,” Jack explains, rubbing the back of his neck.

David looks down at him. Nods, as if he’s considering something. And then, he speaks.

“Mind if I walk you home?”

Oh. Well, Jack had _not_ been expecting that. “You want-- Why?”

“Well, I… I kind of don’t want to go home just yet? My parents are in a mood and- it’s a long story,” David says with a huff, and tightens his grip on the messenger bag slung across his torso. “I’ve been at the library all morning, and it’s just… too quiet in there right now, but it’ll be too loud if I go home.”

Jack raises a brow. “You, like, actually go to the library? For books ‘n stuff?”

“What else do you go to a library for?” David asks with an amused grin.

Jack chuckles, then gives an overdramatic shrug. “Hell if I know. I haven’t been to a library in years.”

“I don’t think that’s something to be proud of,” David laughs- a heavenly sound- and shakes his head. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“I’m missing books and silence. I think I can live without it,” Jack smirks, then nods his head in the direction of his place. “C’mon, let’s go.” Jack turns around and begins walking, glancing to the side to see that David is next to him again.

They don’t say much for a few moments, until Jack, naturally, breaks the silence. “So, Davey, how old’re ya?”

David glances over at Jack, raising a brow at the nickname, but he doesn’t say anything. “I turned eighteen in March. What about you?”

“I’ll be eighteen, uh, next month, actually. July 3rd,” Jack smiles, and puts his hands in his pockets. “Said ya just moved here, right? You know what school you’re gonna be goin’ to yet?”

David thinks for a moment. His brow furrows and he looks up, as if the answer will materialize in the sky, but it must be effective, because David turns back to face Jack and grins. “Uh, Duane High, I think?”

“Oh, really? That’s where my friends and I go! It ain’t, like, a _great_ school or anything, but you ain’t never gonna be bored, that’s for sure,” Jack chuckles, looking back at David. He takes him in again- notices the sharp angles of his body, the inches he has on Jack, the way he taps his fingers against his bag as they walk. He finds himself wanting to learn more, learn everything, he can about this boy. “‘Sides, ‘least now ya know someone who goes there. I’ll make sure to show ya the ropes.”

David looks at him and smiles- a megawatt grin, one that makes his nose scrunch up, and Jack would gladly do everything possible just to see that again. “You have a deal, as long as it doesn’t involve dragging me into anymore alleys.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jack says easily, then swipes his bottom lip with his tongue as he looks Davey up and down. Maybe that's a little obvious, but that's just Jack's style. He's not one to beat around the bush. He smirks, then adds on, “Not unless ya _want_ me to.”

David whips his head around, making eye contact with Jack, and there’s this- this adorably confused look in his eyes until he finally seems to register exactly what Jack means. He gulps hard and lets out a nervous laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I think I’ll pass,” David breathes out, but Jack sees the slightest blush on his cheeks, and he takes that as a temporary win. “But… I guess it’ll be good knowing someone there. Thanks for the offer, anyway.”

“No problem, Davey,” Jack grins.

David seemingly takes this as his opportunity to ask the next question. He’s smirking, nonchalant as he asks, “So, how often do you have run-ins with the police?”

Jack raises a brow at the question, and crosses his arms. “Well, damn, you’re already makin’ me air out all my dirty laundry, ain’t ya?” He mutters with a teasing grin. “For your information, I prefer to call them _disagreements,_ and they don’t happen too often.” He nods, then pauses and adds on, “Only when I get caught.”

“Oh, so, do you steal hoodies regularly, or is that more of a seasonal kind of thing?”

“Y’know, I should’a known you’d still be an ass,” Jack shakes his head, but the smile on his face clearly shows that he isn’t serious. This is nice, actually- being able to throw this sarcasm around. It’s not what Jack had been expecting. “But, no, that’s the only hoodie I’ve ever taken. I mean- c’mon. Forty dollars for a fuckin’ hoodie? You gotta be kiddin’ me, right? They’re over charging for a cheap hoodie just because of the design on the front and the brand on the tag. No one in their right mind should pay more than twenty bucks for a hoodie, so I… didn’t pay.”

“It’s kind of ridiculous how they’re able to jack up the prices of things like that,” David comments with a frown.

“Ridiculous? It’s downright _cruel,_ man. They don't give a shit about the little guy, so I don't give a shit about them," Jack explains easily, as if he were explaining that the sky is blue, or that grass is green. This has always been a fact to him- a fact that most companies didn't care about people like him, didn't care about people who had to fight just to have enough money to buy groceries. Admittedly, his situation had gotten a lot better since being adopted by Medda, but… But he still remembers watching his mother forgo food just so Jack could have food. He remembers seeing her crying because she couldn't afford to buy him new school clothes, and his dad wouldn't help.

Of course, that was before she turned bad too. But she still tried.

"It's different if it's a mom and pop shop," Jack continues on, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "That's where I spend most'a my money when I have it. Local stores, y'know? Small businesses," Jack pauses, and shrugs as he glances over at David. "But, like, I don't care if I cause an inconvenience at a Target or some shit like that."

"No, trust me, I get it," David nods, and shoots an understanding smile toward Jack. "I'm planning on minoring in political science at college next year, so, y'know… I’ve been really into economics in a political sense for a long time. I took concurrent classes last year- and, well, I’ll be taking some more this year, but I wrote a college final on the long term effects that capitalism will have on american society even if we find a way to remove ourselves from the situation--”

"Oh, so, you're a nerd? That explains a lot.”

"Fuck you," David replies easily, immediately, and Jack feels his cheeks heat up.

They both dissolve into easygoing laughter at that, which lasts for quite some time. Jack notices, in the middle of it, that he hasn't felt this calm- this tethered- in… ages. He's not itching for a cigarette, he's not counting the minutes until he can sit on his fire escape and get high, he's just… Living. It's a strange feeling, but it isn't necessarily unwelcome, and he pushes down any foreign implications that may come with the realization. 

They walk in a comfortable silence for a little while longer, until the next topic of conversation naturally comes up. They talk and talk until they reach Jack’s apartment building, and even talk for longer as they lean against the wall- David stays outside his building for an extra five minutes, actually. There’s a certain electric feeling that passes throughout the conversation, one that makes Jack feel like he’s flying and falling at the same time, and their conversation only ends when Jack says something that makes David double over in laughter. He’s smiling now, wide and genuine, and Jack has never seen a more beautiful sight.

The laughter eases up, leaving the two of them standing in silence. David inhales as if he wants to say something, but he cuts himself off with the shake of a wrist, before he does this cute little bouncy thing on his toes and smiles down at the ground. “I-- Uh, heh, I really should get going,” He says eventually, slowly looking up at Jack.

And Jack nods- of course he does, because he’s already talked to David for way longer than he expected. “Yeah! Yeah, okay, I’ll-- I’ll see ya ‘round, Dave.”

David smiles at him. Nods. He’s quick to start walking away, and Jack watches him- watches him pause on the sidewalk and scratch the back of his head and shake his wrists again, before finally turning around, catching sight of Jack, who’s already climbed the ladder to the fire escape. “Wait-- Jack?”

And Jack stops in his tracks. He moves to the edge, looking down at David from the railing. “Yeah, Davey?”

“Can I have your number?”

Jack blinks hard, before smiling and laughing as he nods his head. He drops to his knees on the fire escape, pulls his phone out of his pocket, and holds it out through the railing. “Put your number in and I’ll text ya.”

David does it, all while smiling at Jack’s phone, then smiling up at him as he passes the phone back through the iron rails. “Yeah, that- that sounds good. I’ll, um, talk to you later.”

“Talk to you later,” Jack echoes. And with that, David waves at him and turns to walk back down the street. Jack watches him, waits until he crosses the road up ahead, and darts up the remaining two levels on the fire escape. He pushes his window open and all but falls through, letting out a bright, giddy laugh as he collapses back onto his bed.

Jack stares at his ceiling for a few moments, then quickly grabs his phone and searches through his contacts. When he sees _‘Davey :),’_ his heart skips a beat. He clicks on the contact, taking in a deep breath.

**To: Davey :)**   
_it’s jack! hope to talk soon_

He doesn’t have to wait long for a reply.

**From: Davey :)**   
_I had a lot of fun today. Can’t wait to do it again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry your honor i simply Love Them


	3. not good enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There are a few moments that pass where Jack feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s going to pass out or vomit, and he’s shaking so badly... but then he sees red._

Jack usually isn’t one for texting for long periods of time, but that night, he and Davey text until nearly midnight.

It’s a fun, electric conversation- one that keeps Jack glued to his phone, which rarely ever happens. He’s a chronic ‘ghoster,’ according to Race- he’ll start a conversation, then get distracted by something and won’t remember to respond until days later. It typically happens when he’s painting, or when he plays his guitar, or when he’s high, but sometimes he just forgets.

But there’s no way he’ll forget to respond to Davey.

Davey has this… this way of acting, this way of explaining things, that leaves Jack on the edge of his seat. He’s nice about it, too- if he sends a longer message that Jack doesn’t really understand, or isn’t able to read correctly, he’ll fix his wordage and simplify without asking questions. And, well, maybe that’s because Jack told him about his ADHD, but Jack has never been treated so… kindly, before.

Not by a new friend.

Though, already, Jack isn’t sure if he wants to just be a friend.

That’s another thing that has him worried, though. Jack is already very into Davey. Sure, he was into him when he first met him in that alley, but that was because Davey is hot. He’s tall and he has a nice smile and his eyes are so brilliantly blue, and he’s very objectively attractive, but Jack is slowly finding himself becoming attracted to more than just his body.

He finds himself hanging onto every message. In their downtime between conversations, or even while Davey is typing, Jack will scroll back up and re-read their messages, and it makes his heart pound. It gets so bad that Spot makes fun of him for having his phone at the dinner table- which, truthfully, set off Jack more than it should have, because within the thirty seconds after his comment, Jack was back in his bedroom and his plate is flipped onto the floor.

That was kind of a dick move, he knew that, and he knew that Medda probably didn’t appreciate it, but Jack also… didn’t care.

He didn’t care how it made them feel, because Spot was the one who instigated it anyway, so it was fine. Fine, because Jack didn’t start it this time.

He was just irritable right now- though none of it was directed toward Davey. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but he had a few ideas. Maybe he was like this because he hadn’t had a night out in a while, or maybe it was because he isn’t able to smoke as much as usual right now, since he only has half a pack left and can’t get another pack until Friday. Maybe it’s because all of his friends are talking about college and senior year and Jack would rather just… not worry about it right now. Maybe it’s because he’s sexually frustrated, especially since his last ‘friend with benefits’ left to spend the summer with her dad, and he wouldn’t be able to meet up with her again for another two months.

Whatever the case may be, Jack knew that he was pent up, and knew he was acting like a dick, but Davey… Davey calmed that.

Davey calmed those feelings that night, and pretty much every night afterward for the next two and a half weeks.

Of course they saw each other during that time, but most of their time was spent texting, since Davey was sometimes busy with family stuff. There were a few days when they met up and explored the city together- Davey on a bike, and Jack with his skateboard- but that only happened three times. Other than those three days- those long, amazing days when they met up before noon and didn’t say goodbye until nearly eight in the evening- their conversations have been limited between screens.

Until today, at least.

It’s been, what, five days since they last saw each other, and Jack has been itching for his chance to see David. He makes sure that everything about himself is _perfect_ before he even thinks about leaving the apartment- he smokes shirtless on the fire escape so the scent doesn’t linger on his outfit, he actually uses some product in his hair, and he dresses in something a little bit more daring than his usual t-shirt and denim jacket.

Now, Jack isn’t exactly sure what David’s type is, but showing skin is always a winner, right? It’s why he wears what he does- a white t-shirt with a high neck, but the sleeves are cut off and holes for his arms are nearly down to his waist, exposing his sides and the brown skin that resides underneath the fabric.. He loosely tucks the shirt into a pair of ripped black skinny jeans, clinching it with a belt, and finishes off the look with an old pair of Docs.

He watches his reflection as he turns, biting his lip. He’s a little shaky, and he’s skinnier than he should be- skinnier than he wants to be, really. He needs to start working out more. Would Davey like that?

Jack pushes away the implications behind that thought. He’s playing with fire right now as is.. Maybe he’s getting too attached too quickly. Maybe Davey is just a new and exciting hyperfixation. Maybe Jack will get bored of him.

Or maybe Davey will get bored of Jack, once he finds out the skeletons in his closet.

Jack takes in a deep breath and shakes his head, grabbing the last few things he needs before walking out of his room. He crosses the living room and heads to the front door, but a whistle to get his attention has him pausing and letting out a deep sigh. Slowly, Jack turns around, raising a brow once he sees Medda watching him. “What?”

Medda blinks, and crosses her arms. “I just wanna know where you’re going, in case something happens.”

“Out,” Jack mutters as he grabs his skateboard from it’s spot, leaning up against the wall. “You got a problem with that?”

“No… But I do have a problem with your attitude,” Medda says calmly, gently, as she takes a few steps forward. “You haven’t been actin’ like yourself the past few weeks, baby... Are you oka--”

_Shit._

“Why the _fuck_ do you care?!” Jack asks, raising his voice, and Medda quickly moves back, a shocked look on her face. He stares at her, and fear rises in his chest. He isn’t sure where the outburst came from, but against his better judgement, he continues speaking. “Can you just-- Can you stop this shit?! I’m _fine,_ for fuck’s sake! You aren’t my fuckin’ mom- stop acting like it!” With that, Jack roughly swings the front door open and storms out of the apartment.

Distantly, he can hear Spot’s bedroom door open in the midst of the commotion, but he’s quick to hurry down the stairwell. If he hurries, then Spot won’t try to run after him, and he won’t be late to see Davey.

He _has_ to see Davey.

His nerves are shot to hell, and his hands are violently shaky, and every step makes the sick feeling in his stomach sink even lower, but he has to see Davey.

As soon as Jack’s feet hit pavement, he steps onto the skateboard and pushes off, taking in a few deep breaths. He runs his hands through his hair, before setting his jaw, and he’s soon pushing himself faster.

He’s meeting Davey in Central Park at noon. He’s meeting Davey in Central Park at noon. He’s meeting Davey in Central Park at noon.

And by the time Jack gets there, he can’t tell how long it’s been since he left home. He doesn’t even register that he’s there until he comes to a stop on the sidewalk where they usually meet- by a lamppost near a crosswalk. Fuck, he doesn’t remember anything about the ride over, but… but that’s normal. Jack is just in his head.

He pulls out his phone to check the time, and sees five missed calls from Spot, and about ten texts calling him an asshole. A selfish prick. A cunt.

Jack holds down on the power button and shuts off the phone.

When he looks up, he sees Davey crossing the street on his bike, and Jack has to take in a sharp breath when he sees him. He looks gorgeous- but, then again, he always does. As he comes closer, Jack can’t help but compare their appearances. Jack is all brown skin and bold colors- black and white, monochromatic with a hint of rough-around-the-edges, but somehow, David looks flawless in a vintage navy sweater and a simple pair of jeans and, oh, those glasses look downright sinful on him.

Davey glances around and smiles wide when he sees Jack, coming to a stop in front of him. “I’m not late, am I?” He asks with that- that wide eyed grin, the one that drives Jack crazy.

All Jack can do is shake his head for a few moments, letting out his own little laugh. “Don’t think so. I jus’ got here, too, so it’s whatever,” Jack assures him with a smile.

They stand their for a few more moments, and Jack watches as Davey’s eyes drag over his body. Something makes those blue eyes darken, and Jack gulps as Davey’s tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, but then Davey is grinning at him and saying, “Let’s go find a spot-- Oh! Did I tell you what Sarah did?”

“What’d she do?” Jack asks with a grin as he steps back onto his board, easily gliding next to Davey’s bike.

“She got a tattoo over the weekend.”

“She did _what?”_

“Mhm. On her chest.”

“Like, her _chest_ chest, or--”

“All I heard was my mom yelling about how Sarah’s tattoo ‘ruining her breasts,’ and I really don’t want to know any more than that.”

This, of course, makes Jack burst into a shoulder shaking laughter, and Davey’s resulting smile makes him feel weak in the knees.

They ride around for about five more minutes, just catching each other up on their day, before they finally stop and move onto the grass after finding a bike rack for Davey. The conversation continues as they both walk to a shady spot beneath a tree, and as they sit down, Davey asks, “So, are you doing anything for your birthday? It’s coming up, right?”

Jack blinks at the question, and scoffs as he drops to his knees, then scoots back with his back against the tree trunk. “Saturday,” Jack informs him with a sigh. He has four more days until he’s the big 1-8, and he’s dreading it. “Knowing my ma, she’ll probably try to do somethin’, but I don’t plan on doin’ anything. I don’t wanna do anything.”

“Why’s that? You’re gonna be eighteen- that’s a big one. I’d expect at least a little get together, knowing you,” David says with a curious expression.

Jack looks at him, hesitates, and shrugs as he looks away, letting his eyes shut. “Me ‘nd birthdays don’t exactly get along,” Jack explains with a huff. “Ain’t never had a good one. Don’t know why I should try now.”

David frowns at this. He opens his mouth to speak, no doubt to convince Jack that he’s just being pessimistic, but all of a sudden, there’s a voice calling out from the side. _“Kelly!”_

Jack blinks his eyes open, his head whipping around, and he hurriedly stands and approaches a man. He looks a little older, but no older than twenty, and he’s just a few inches taller than Jack, with pale skin and a cocky smile. Jack gulps as he approaches, shaking his head. “Oscar, what--”

“Hey, little guy,” the man- Oscar- says with a sickening smirk, then pulls Jack in, hugging him a little rougher than necessary. “Long time, no see, pal! Where ya been?”

“I ain’t your pal,” Jack spits out, and shoves Oscar back. He glances behind him, seeing that Davey has stood and approached, though he’s still a few feet back. Fucking hell. “The fuck do you want?”

“What, a guy can’t check up on an old friend?”

“We ain’t never been friends,” Jack counters, and squares his shoulders. “Answer the question.”

“Wanted to see if ya have any cash,” Oscar says with a smirk, and crosses his arms. “I got the good shit this time. Cheap, too, if ya want it.”

Jack sucks in a sharp breath, and shakes his head. “Fuck off. I ain’t buyin’ shit from you anymore, not after last time.”

“Oh, like you can afford another fucker ‘round here,” Oscar rolls his eyes. “Suit yourself.”

Jack gives a sharp nod and turns to walk away, but Oscar reaches out and grabs his wrist. Jack immediately turns back around, letting out a deep sigh. “Spit it out, will ya? What more can you possibly need?”

Oscar gives him a smile, one that looks way too friendly to actually _be_ friendly. “There’s a party at the warehouse in Brooklyn tonight,” Oscar says with a smirk, and drops Jack’s wrist. “You gonna be there?”

A party… The offer does sound compelling. Jack gives a noncommittal shrug, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Depends. You gonna have free booze?”

“We’re gonna have somethin’ else for free, too,” Oscar speaks in a low, hushed voice, making direct eye contact with Jack as he swipes the underside of his nose with his thumb.

The gesture isn’t lost on Jack, whose fingers twitch at the thought.

Part of him wants to say yes. Maybe this is what he needs, y’know? A party, with no inhibitions and no consequences. A chance to let loose. Get drunk. Get high, _really_ high. And, sure, he might be throwing up tomorrow, and maybe his nose will burn for a few days, but it all sounds so worth it.

Until he hears the intake of Davey’s breath behind him.

Jack just barely turns his head in Davey’s direction, and he takes a slow step away from Oscar. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Oh, c’mon, Kelly,” Oscar crosses his arms, and takes another step forward. “I know ya want to. Just a few lines, right? Ain’t that what you always say?”

“I said, I don’t know what the _fuck_ you’re talkin’ about,” Jack growls, and balls his fist. He feels trapped here- standing between Oscar and Davey, between someone who knows what he’s done and someone who should have stayed blissfully unaware. “Get the fuck away from me, Delancey. You’re so full of bullshit.”

Oscar glares at him and bares his teeth in something that could, in another situation, be mistaken for a smile, but his eyes are fierce. “Fine. Whatever you say, Kelly,” He says with a shrug, then looks up- directly at Davey. Jack gulps hard, and that’s when Oscar’s eyes widen, and his smile turns sinister. “Oh, is this your _boyfriend,_ Jackie?”

Jack clenches his jaw. “Shut the _fuck_ up, or I’ll--”

“Oh, no, it’s sweet,” Oscar smirks, looking Jack in the eyes, and then begins walking off. He gets about ten feet away before turning, raising a brow. “Have fun with your little _faggot._ Oh, and don’t forget to tell him about your guilty pleasure,” He brushes his thumb up under his nose again, and Jack’s blood runs cold.

There are a few moments that pass where Jack feels like he can’t breathe, like he’s going to pass out or vomit, and he’s shaking so badly... but then, he sees _red._

“Take it back, you _son of a--”_ And Jack charges, running as fast as he can toward Oscar, but then arms wrap around his waist and- rather roughly- pulls him back. Jack thrashes in the hold, but Davey doesn’t let up, not until Oscar is out of sight, and Jack is cursing the entire time. Even when Davey lets go, Jack has half the mind to run after Oscar, but as soon as Jack sees the look on Davey’s face, he falters. “I-- Dave…”

Davey looks… heartbroken. He stares at Jack with this unreadable expression in his eyes, and as Jack takes a step forward, Davey takes a step back.

Jack’s heart falls to his stomach. “Davey… Davey, he-- All of that, it’s not- That isn’t what it sounds like, Dave, I don’t--”

“Listen, I, uh--” Davey gulps, then lets out a forced laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just remembered, I gotta- I… gotta help Les with some work around the apartment,” David says finally, and turns around, hurrying to grab his bike from the rack.

Jack runs after him, taking in a deep breath. “Davey- _David,_ please listen to me, I-- He was lying, Dave, I don’t--”

“I’ll see you around, Jack,” David mumbles as he swings his leg over the bike, and he doesn’t even give Jack a second look as he rides off.

Jack wants to run after him, but he’s frozen in place. He takes a few deep breaths, but then those breaths turn shallow and his entire body is shaking and, oh, there are tears in his eyes now, and he lets out the most angry, frustrated, _desperate_ cry he can muster.

He’s sure that people are looking at him. He’s sure of it, and he knows what they’ll see- a frantic little brown boy, an amateur junkie, a freak, a disappointment. Jack nearly trips over himself as he races back to the tree to grab his skateboard, and he’s quick to take off back home to the apartment.

Halfway there, though, he remembers.

The fight with Ma.

Spot’s reaction.

Jack covers his mouth with his hands and whimpers, but he has nowhere else to go.

He comes up on his building about ten minutes later, and he starts up the ladder to the fire escape- but then he realizes that he left through the front door today, and his _fucking_ window is locked. Great.

It’s the work of just barely a minute to get up the three flights of stairs. There are still tears streaming down his cheeks and he feels like he can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe, and he wants nothing more than to smoke cigs until he can feel the burn in his lungs, or snort line after line until all he feels is blissful, numb adrenaline, but he can’t, and he can’t even text Davey, and--

The door slams behind him as he forces his way into the apartment, discarding the skateboard onto the floor without even looking. He then crosses the apartment, ignoring the questions from Ma, until he feels a hand on his shoulder. “Jack, what the fuck are you--”

Jack screams as his fist makes harsh, direct contact with Spot’s jaw.

Spot staggers as he tries to catch his footing, and there’s a look in his eyes- not one of anger, but of shock, of worry, of fear. He takes a step forward, letting out a shaky breath. “Woah, Cisco, you need--”

“J-Just-- Just _stop!_ D-Don’t touch me, sh-shut the fuck _u-up--”_

Medda is in front of him now. “Jackie, baby, what--”

The dam breaks.

All of Jack’s pent up emotion- the anger, the sadness, the feeling of _never_ being _good enough-_ hits full force, and before he knows what’s going on, Jack is throwing his bedroom door open and storming inside. The door makes a loud bang as he shoves it with his back, and he’s taking quick, shallow breaths and he feels like his throat is closing up on him and he’s screaming now, sobs wracking his body, and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what set this off.

What he does know, though, is that he’s pulling a bookshelf down. The force of the fall vibrates the floor, and he hears glass shatter. Probably picture frames.

A wooden easel crashes the wall and splinters into a few jagged pieces. A rolling chair is lifted over his head and thrown against the closet door. His guitar is slammed against the wall, over and over, until it's a mangled pile of wood and strings.

Jack is on his knees when he registers just what he’s done, and he’s roughly tugging on his hair and asking, begging, _pleading_ for forgiveness, and he’s flanked by Medda and Spot, who are both holding him and reassuring him that everything’s going to be okay, that he's going to be okay, that they're there for him no matter what.

But Jack knows it’s a lie.

He cries harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooh shit !! it's getting juicy !!  
> what do we think? was davey wrong for leaving? is jack actually a bad person? what about that oscar cameo? i'd love to hear y'alls thoughts on this!


	4. safe from yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He knows there are apologies waiting to be said, explanations waiting to be given, scoldings waiting to be received._
> 
> _But he deserves it, right? For being such a fuck up?_
> 
> _Jack takes in a deep breath and opens the door._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok it isn't explicitly stated but medda was like. a social worker before she adopted jack. it'll make sense i swear

Jack wakes up in a bed that is not his own.

As he slowly sits up, he looks around the bedroom. There are some old movie posters and some t-shirts from sporting events hung up on the walls, and the room is decorated in black and white, with splashes of red here and there. Spot’s room, of course. He doesn’t understand why he’s in Spot’s room, but--

_Oh._

Oh, right.

Jack gulps hard as the memories wash over him. He doesn’t even know what day it is; his breakdown happened around noon, and he must have worn himself out enough to put himself to sleep, because a glance at the clock on the wall tells him that it’s around dinner time now.

Slowly, Jack climbs out of Spot’s bed and gulps hard. He doesn’t want to leave the room, but he doesn’t want to stay in here, and he wants to go to his own bedroom, but he knows that there are some harsh conversations waiting for him outside. He knows there are apologies waiting to be said, explanations waiting to be given, scoldings waiting to be received.

But he deserves it, right? For being such a fuck up?

Jack takes in a deep breath and opens the door.

He looks towards the kitchen, where Spot and Medda are staring at him, frozen like deer in headlights. Clearly, they had been in the middle of a conversation. Jack stares back, his hand gripped tightly on the door handle, and he opens his mouth to speak, to apologize, to explain, but the words refuse to come out. He looks down at the floor as he begins moving, hurrying into his own bedroom and slowly, silently shutting the door behind himself.

As he turns, Jack takes in a sharp breath and takes in the state of his bedroom. His bookshelf is back against the wall, but everything on it is in disarray- his books are in piles, his picture frames are broken, and most of his knickknacks are shoved precariously in random places. At least the glass has been picked up.

He walks further into the room and takes in a deep breath when he sees the dent in the wall next to his bed- from his guitar, he realizes, and his heart drops. That guitar had been one of the only birthday presents he’d ever been genuinely excited about, and now it’s… gone. And it’s his own damn fault.

He turns to the side and sees a few canvases, ones that had previously been stored on or under his easel, in a pile on his desk. His easel is nowhere to be found; it was probably unsalvageable, Jack thinks to himself.

He holds back a fresh wave of tears. There’s no point in crying over his own mistakes.

Jack clenches his fists at his sides a few times, and walks to his closet- which has a dent in the door- to search through his clothes. He finds what he needs pushed to the very back, and he soon tugs it on: an old hoodie, one that is still too large for him. It’s stained and ratty, and there’s a hole in the front pocket, but… it reminds him of simpler days.

Simpler. Not necessarily easier. No, there was nothing easy about Jack’s childhood, especially with being surrounded by druggies and alcoholics and people who would rather talk with their fists instead of their words, but it was simple back then, because he didn’t have to think about it. He didn’t have to think about anything, because everything was normal. Finding grown men passed out on the couch after school was normal. Seeing his parent’s friends doing lines on the kitchen table or shooting up in the bathroom while Jack played with his Legos in the living room was normal. Stepping around beer bottles and broken glass was normal. Getting slapped or punched or kicked around for asking questions was normal.

Nothing about the life Jack lives now is normal, at least not the normal he’s used to.

So, he wears his mother’s hoodie- the one she would wear while cooking dinner after being hit, the one she would wear while screaming and cursing at Jack’s father for not getting enough money from his deals, the one she would wear while berating Jack for asking for a new toy or a new pair of shoes or some food, for Christ’s sake- and dreams of the day when he’ll finally feel normal again.

But normal, right now, is unattainable. Because, right now, Jack doesn’t even know what normal _is._ He knows what it’s _supposed_ to be. It’s supposed to be having fun with friends and not doing something illegal, or watching movies with Spot and Ma without feeling like they’re just doing it out of pity, or having a crush on a cute guy without all of the extra hassle of a bad life. Normal is supposed to be the stereotypical teen movie that everyone raves about all summer.

It’s not supposed to be a nicotine addiction at the age of seventeen. It’s not supposed to be cravings and withdrawals that hurt so bad you can’t sleep, can’t eat, can’t breathe. It’s not supposed to be one night stands just to control the energy, the adrenaline, the anger coursing through your body.

Jack is lying on his bed now, curled with his knees to his stomach as he stares at the dimming sunset outside of his window. He can just barely see it over the buildings across the street, but it calms him. Gives him something to focus on as his mind races and tries to make sense of all of his own contradictions. He knows that he doesn’t make sense to anyone else- hell, he doesn’t even make sense to himself, but… but if he can just try to find something to say, something to justify his actions and his mistakes, he can-...

No. There’s no justifying what he’s done anymore.

Jack takes in a deep, shaky breath, then shuts his eyes tightly as he hears his bedroom door creak open.

“...Cisco, you awake?” Spot asks, quietly, and shuts the door behind him.

Jack doesn’t give a verbal answer, opting to sit up instead. He leans back against the wall and brings his knees to his chest, staring out the window once again. There are a few kids playing across the street, and Jack has to push down the jealousy he feels.

He sits there, silent and still, until Spot walks over and takes a seat on the foot of Jack’s bed. Jack then looks at him, gulping hard as he sees the bruise on Spot’s jaw. “...Did-… I did that, didn’t I?”

Spot rubs the bruise with a frown, and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, you did. Better me than Ma, I guess,” He says with a forced smile, but it doesn’t make Jack feel any better. “You can really pack a punch, kiddo. Wasn’t expectin’ it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

They sit there in silence for a few long moments, before Spot lets out a deep sigh. “Listen, Jack, you… You ain’t in the clear for this one, but you ain’t in trouble either, okay? What you did was wrong, but we just… We need to know what’s goin’ on so we can help you ‘n make sure it don’t happen again.”

Jack gulps hard, but he nods slowly, and rubs his forehead. “Just… go get Ma. I’ll talk.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

Spot nods slowly, and soon leaves the room. While he’s gone, Jack moves to sit in the middle of the bed, just so there’s room for both Spot and Medda to sit down with him. He looks up and watches as they both walk back in, and his heart aches at the look on Medda’s face. She looks... tired. There’s no other way to explain it. Tired, and disappointed, and hurt, and Jack hates seeing her like this.

He hates that he was the one who caused her to be like this.

He looks back down at his hands, which are resting in his lap, as Spot and Medda sit on either side of him. He flinches when Medda wraps an arm around his shoulders, so she removes it, but it isn’t long until Jack is leaning against her side, curling in on himself like he’s a scared little kid again. “...I- I’m sorry for what I said this mornin’,” Jack sighs, “About… about you not bein’ my mom. I wasn’t thinkin’. I’m sorry.”

“I know you are, baby,” Medda murmurs, and lets out a deep breath. “We’re just worried about you, hun. You understand that, right? You… These last few months have been hell on all of us, baby, especially you, and we just wanna help. What’s been goin’ on?”

“I… I-I don’t even know,” Jack whispers, and his eyes shut tightly as he takes in a few deep, labored breaths. “It’s just- It’s all t-too much right now…”

“What’s too much, Cisco?” Spot asks softly, and truthfully, it sends Jack through a loop. Spot isn’t the kind of person to be… nice. He’s a nice guy, sure, but he’s all about tough love. He’s only ever this nice to Tony.

Slowly, Jack exhales and covers his face. He mumbles something, something quiet and soft, which makes Medda gently squeeze his shoulder. “Speak up, baby.”

Jack hesitates for a long while, before slowly dropping his hands. His face feels hot and there are the beginnings of tears in his eyes, but he stares straight ahead toward the wall on the other side of the room. “Senior year is startin’ soon and I’ve never- I never even pictured myself graduating. My friends are talkin’ ‘bout college applications already and I don’t even know what I wanna do with my life yet. A few weeks ago, Charlie took the ACT for the- the fourth time and made a 32, and I…” Jack gulps, closing his eyes. “I snuck off and- and I got drunk, again, a-and it-- I did some lines, and it wasn’t the first time--”

“You _what?!_ Jack, what the--”

“Ma,” Spot cuts in, shooting Medda a look. He then shakes his head and looks Jack dead in the eyes, raising a brow. “Lines? As in- Cocaine?”

Jack nods, and winces as he hears Medda take in a sharp breath behind him.

Spot stares at Jack with an unreadable expression. He looks angry, but worried, but… but also sad and desperate, and Jack doesn’t know what’s going on. “Jack, where are you doing this? Who’s giving it to you?”

Jack gulps hard, and for a moment, the thought of lying to save his ass crosses his mind, but he inhales and says, “Oscar Delancey and his brother. Don't know his name.”

Apparently, that’s not the answer Spot is hoping for. “You-- From them?! Fuckin’ _hell,_ Jack, I--” He ducks his head and curses, before holding out his hand. “Give me your arm.”

“What? Why--”

“Jack, _give me your arm.”_

Jack blinks and nods, holding out his arm for Spot. Immediately, Spot pushes his sleeve up, inspecting his wrist and the inside of Jack’s elbow. He does the same with Jack’s other arm, before locking gazes with him again. “They didn’t make you shoot up? They’re known for--”

“No, I don’t do heroin, I’m not that much of a _fuckin’_ idiot,” Jack mutters, pulling his arms back and roughly tugging his sleeves back down. “‘Sides, I’m scared‘a needles. You know that.”

“Had to make sure, _dumbass,”_ Spot sighs. “How often?”

Jack stares at him, confused, until he gulps and looks away. “Jus’ once a week, for- for the coke,” Jack admits, and rubs his face. “I smoke almost daily, though. Weed. Cigarettes.”

“I told you he wasn’t sober,” Spot whispers to Medda, who has a heartbroken look on her face, but she doesn't say anything. Spot then slides off of the bed, but he turns, standing directly in front of Jack. He runs a hand through his short hair, and curses under his breath. “This- This is serious, okay? I can’t-- And you aren’t lyin’? You’re _willingly_ tellin’ us all of--”

“I ain't got a _choice!”_ Jack yells, eyes wide and frantic, until he shuts his eyes and takes in a few deep breaths. “I do- I don’t wanna be like this anymore, so this- this is admitting that I’ve fucked up and ruined my life and that I need _help,_ and I need you guys to h-help me, pl-please…”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Medda breathes, and gently wraps her arms around Jack. Jack leans into her hold, furiously wiping at the hot tears that have started spilling over. “We’re here, okay? And we’re gonna help you, and… and you’re gonna get better, and be happy, okay?”

Jack nods, sniffling as he whispers, “I- I don’t wanna end up like m-mama and papa...”

And he doesn’t.

He remembers the funeral. Both of them in their own caskets. He remembers having to say goodbye, even though he was just ten, just a boy, and he barely understood. He remembers being grateful that he wasn’t going to be hurt anymore. He remembers being broken because, even though they weren’t good, they were still his parents, and they were still gone.

He remembers crying for hours the night they were killed.

A deal gone wrong. Bad blood. Debts that weren’t paid. Drugs in their systems. That’s what the cop had said.

Jack doesn’t want to end up like that.

Slowly, Jack looks up at Spot, and gulps as he rubs his forehead. “I’m s-sorry for bein’ a dick.”

Spot nods, then gives him a sad sort of smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You… It’s alright,” He mutters, and lets out a deep breath. “Jackie, do… Do you need rehab, or do you need _us?_ What are you functionin’ at here?”

“I don’t- I don’t need the, uh, the drugs, if that’s what you mean,” Jack mumbles quietly, feeling Medda’s arms tighten around him. “They just… They's just- just cravings, but they’ve- they’ve been happenin’ more frequently, and I- I’m scared...”

“Okay, then- then you… Stay home for a while, okay? No going outside unsupervised, so you don't sneak off,” Medda says softly, biting her lip for a moment. “And, hopefully, in a few weeks you- you’ll feel better, okay? But, Jackie, this is gonna take some time, and you’re gonna feel _miserable,_ and you just need to know that we’re doin’ this to help you. But… but I _am_ gonna make a few calls,” She starts, and Jack sighs. He knows where this is going.

“Therapy?” Jack grumbles, and rubs his eyes as Medda nods. “I _really_ think that’s overboard--”

“You punched your brother in the face, you’ve been angry and lashing out for weeks, you smashed a guitar, you threw a chair, you--”

“Okay! Okay, fuck--”

“Language,” Medda sighs, and moves to look into Jack’s eyes. “I know that there’s a lot goin’ on, baby, but you need professional help for the… the mental stability side of things. Sean and I,” She pauses, looking at Spot, “We can help get you sober, and we can watch out for you that way, but it’s time that we start getting you into therapy, and see about getting some answers, and maybe medication. Okay?”

“What, you think I’m clinically fucked up?”

“Language!”

“Sorry…”

Medda shakes her head, an amused smile playing on her lips, though she soon sighs and looks down. “We know you have ADHD,” Medda takes Jack’s hand, rubbing the back of it with her thumb, “but I think there’s more that… that can be helped,” She eases, furrowing her brows. “Before I adopted your brother, Jackie, I worked with kids from all walks of life, from age five to twenty. I know when there’s a problem. We need to get you checked out.”

Jack gulps. “What do you think it could be?”

“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, for one,” Medda says without hesitation. “I’ve seen it in kids far younger than you. I’ve helped kids far younger than you who have it. Sometimes it shows up sporadically, in the form of panic attacks, or anxiety, or occasionally even dissociation, but if you have it- and, again, we need to check with a doctor before we say for sure- I think that… I think it might affect you more frequently, with your mood swings and your anger bein’ the, you know, key indicators. If you _do_ have PTSD, then we can come up with… A treatment plan of sorts,” She moves to sit on her knees. “We can identify what triggers you, and come up with ways of either _avoiding_ said triggers, or keeping you calm when those triggers pop up. Does that make sense?”

Jack nods slowly, and crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s what y’all had to do for Smalls, right?”

“Right,” Medda nods, giving Jack a soft smile. “Just remember that you aren’t in the wrong here, okay?... Now, if we figure out what’s goin’ on and we try to help it and you _still_ act like an ass, that’ll be on you. You can’t use your situation and your experiences as an excuse to act out. You can’t use ‘em as an excuse to be unkind. It’ll happen occasionally, and that’s okay, but you just need to be careful with how you’re treatin’ others. That’s why we’re gonna do this, to get you some good coping mechanisms. That way you won’t take it out on others.”

Jack listens to every word, and he realizes that that’s exactly what he’s been doing. He’s been taking everything out on everyone else, especially Medda… fuck. Jack gulps and looks up at her, taking in a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Ma…”

“I know you are, baby,” Medda frowns, and pulls Jack into a hug. “But we’re gonna help you. This’ll be alright. You’ll be alright. I love you, baby.”

“I love you too,” Jack whispers, hugging back, and he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally this chapter was gonna be a big fight between jack and racer. as you can see, there is no fight beteen jack and racer. i have given up on following chapter outlines  
> also, i hope you guys are liking this !! comments are much appreciated !!

**Author's Note:**

> as always, come hang out with me at @we-are-inevitable on tumblr!


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